


A Different Kind of Training

by Lorde_Shadowz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorde_Shadowz/pseuds/Lorde_Shadowz
Summary: What if Harry had followed Sirius into the veil? If the war had been finished in fifth year? What if Luna gives Harry a unique way of coping with his grief? And what if Dumbledore resorts to drastic measures to keep Harry from "going dark"?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Possible Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood, Possible Harry Potter/Salazar Slytherin, Possible Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am polling all readers on what pairing they would like for Harry, Harry Potter/Severus Snape (with time-distortion), Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood, and/or Harry Potter/Young Salazar Slytherin. Please comment and share your opinion!

Harry Potter could feel the smooth flexing of the thestral's muscles as he rode it, could hear the thump of bat-like wings as his friends swooped up behind him on their own steeds, urgency burning through him at every movement. Voldemort had his godfather, Sirius, and he was being tortured- they had to hurry, or it would be too late!

They were fast approaching the ministry now, and Harry, if anything, was still more agitated- every second they were delayed, every second they deliberated, every second they had to stop and reassess meant that Sirius Black was that much closer to being tortured to death.

Harry and his companions went down, level after level through the curiously silent ministry, until at last they reached the second lowest level, and they stepped out into a black-tiled windowless corridor which, (at least from where they were) looked no different than any of the other corridors. Like the others, it was lit only by torches that cast a cold blue-white glare that made their faces seem bleached and afraid. To the left, a little flight of stairs led still farther down, presumably to level ten, the final level, though Harry was certainly not the slightest bit concerned about what might be in the level below them- his entire body and soul was still fixed on Sirius.

At the end of the corridor they were now traversing was a plain, unadorned door, which they now approached, Harry still in the lead, as if on some subconscious level he was attempting to protect them from the dangers they all knew they would have to face. And they passed through said door, into a great circular chamber washed in cool blue light from dim, flickering phantom candles, their boots clicking on marble like petrified black water. Harry stared around them, taking in the twelve doors without handles that breached the curved walls at regular intervals. But at that moment, the door that they had entered by shut with a sharp snick behind them, and then the walls began to move.

The students stared at each other.

"So what now?" Ron asked in a harsh whisper. "Are we stuck in here?"

Harry answered by trying the closest door, which opened, revealing a room full of rows of desks surrounding a central tank, within which were pulsing aquatic brains in some kind of astringent solution. This not being the room Harry had dreamed about, they quickly exited (although not before Hermione had cast a longing and curious look behind them).

Now back in the entrance chamber, they had scarcely a moment to think before the room began to rotate again, and when at last it stopped, they simply opened a door at random.

The room this revealed looked vaguely like a gladiatorial arena of old, with a sunken clearing in the center and rows upon rows of stone benches, as if for spectators. In the very center of that clearing, Harry caught a glimpse of an archway with a curtain hung across it before Ginny pulled him back into the main chamber again, and they waited for the whirling motion to stop.

The next door they attempted to open was too fortified even for Hermione's formidable skill with locking spells, but the door after that opened readily enough, revealing a room with walls covered in clocks and dials and racks of Time-Turners, as well as a hummingbird in a bell-jar which continually hatched, grew to maturity, and died in a never-ending cycle, a room Harry had seen in some of his dreams. Here Hermione spotted a door on the other side of the room, and with no better ideas to choose from (except to go back to the revolving chamber and try another door) they crossed the room and went through it into the Hall of Prophecies, where they picked the first turning point and began to search the hall, expecting every minute to come upon Sirius and his torturers.

But they _didn't_. They walked down aisles full of shelves loaded with blank, misty globes, some of them labeled, but there was no one anywhere to be seen, and the more secluded parts of the Hall of Prophecies had an eerie silence that suggested a trap. And where they should have found Sirius, near the back wall, there was-

"Look!" Harry's hushed exclamation made the others whirl around. It was a prophecy. And it was about him, seeing as it had his name (and Voldemort's) written on the label. He reached out his hand.

"Harry,"

Harry ignored Hermione's insistent voice. "'Mione, it's got my name on it. It's gonna be fine- it only hurts you if it _doesn't_ have your name, like what happened to Bode."

"Harry," she repeated, "it could be a trap!"

It was. Because at the moment Harry pulled the prophecy off the shelf, twelve Death Eaters melted out of the shadows, and Harry heard Lucius Malfoy's slippery voice demanding the prophecy- after all, the spells only prevent it from being taken from the shelf by someone whom the prophecy was not made to...it would do nothing if Harry just _happened_ to give it over...

Harry's eyes narrowed in anger, even with the fear rushing through his veins. He taunted the Death Eaters to buy time, mocking their leader and his lineage- **"** **Did you know he's a half-blood too?... Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a muggle — or has he been telling you lot he's pureblood?"**

It certainly got the point across, Harry thought grimly as Bellatrix, shrieking in outrage at the sacrilege against her "Lord" flung a stunning spell at them (Harry could only assume she'd either been given direct orders not to kill them or she was hoping she could capture and torture them- you couldn't be sure with that witch). As it turned out, Lucius, surprisingly, deflected the shot into the Q-S section of the recorded prophecies, and two globes exploded on impact, releasing garbled snatches of prophecies that would never reach their intended recipients. Harry started, surprised by the blast, but as the Death Eaters began once again demanding that he hand over the prophecy, he was already thinking of ways to turn that effect to his -their- advantage. He barely even registered the taunts Lucius, in turn, was leveling at _him_ \- of course he knew that the prophecy held all the answers; he wasn't thick, after all, but as long as he had it, Voldemort didn't, and Voldie obviously wanted the answers as much as he did. Hell, if it came to that, it would make a nice bargaining chip...

Harry shot a glance at the others. "On three," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, and before the others could even respond, he'd cast a _reducto_ into the nearby shelves of prophecy balls, swiftly followed by the others, and, as in slow motion, the shelves began to explode, glass arching over them in a wave before raining all over them and their antagonists, thousands of forgotten voices and long lost words muted and lost forever, dying away in a babble of magic.

"- and her greatest threat shall be her greatest friend-"

"...beware of furnishing the viper with its own fangs-"

"- betrayed-"

"- the true source of strength-"

But they could not stay to listen to the prophecies now, for the distraction would only work so long, and now, recognizing that Sirius was likely not even there, they fled down the glass-littered aisles. As they went, a Death Eater- Harry thought it was Nott- grabbed Harry's arm, but Hermione hexed him off, flinging him back into the shelves, which promptly collapsed on top of him, and they kept running, scattering as they ran. Harry, and his companions bolted back into the time chamber, pursued by Rabastan Lestrange and a large, clumsy man bearing a rather strong resemblance to Vincent Crabbe, locking the door behind them hurriedly, assuming that all of them together could overpower the two adult Death Eaters. It was only once the door was locked that Harry realized that Luna, Ron and Ginny were not with them.

Behind them, through the door, they could hear Lucius's _sonorus_ -amplified voice ringing out: **"We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary..."**

In the time chamber, the three Hogwarts students hid just as the blundering Death Eaters forced their way through towards where they were, worrying feverishly about their separated companions. The Death Eaters immediately began to search for the errant students, but before they had gotten very far they were down, Crabbe Sr. to a stunning spell in the head and Rabastan to a _s_ _tupify_ after a furious scuffle when he tried to use a killing curse on Hermione. Rabastan, however, would never become fully conscious again, as the impact of the stunning spell knocked him back into a bell jar like the one which held the hummingbird, and his head changed to that of a baby's, incongruous on his thick neck, swelling to maturity and then shrinking again before he could break the glass. Harry shuddered and ran on.

Leaving the time chamber and the baby-headed Death Eater behind, they ran into a little office off to the side, where they were ambushed by Antonin Dolohov and Jugson, who leaped out of the shadows at once, blasting impediment jinxes at them.

Hermione was the only one with presence of mind enough to cast a silencing charm at them to prevent him from giving the alarm, but Dolohov was the only one struck...and he was proficient enough at wordless magic to strike her with a whip of purple flame, conjured from the top of his wand, which rendered her immediately insensible before Harry, who had been busy stunning Jugson could even turn around. As Harry whirled to face him, he broke Neville's wand and struck him in the nose, trying to wordlessly communicate his rage to Harry. At that moment, however, the hideous baby-headed Lestrange brother, who'd somehow gotten his head out of the time-loop jar, wobbled in the doorway, flailing, and Harry used welcome distraction to paralyze Dolohov while Neville reluctantly took Hermione's wand (and her) following Harry in search of their friends.

They found them in the brain room, and in a seriously bad way; Ginny was limping, her freckles standing out on her shocked white features, while an evidently inebriated Ron was swaying and giggling, victim of some curse or other. Behind him, Luna burst in the doorway, coughing, radish earrings askew and silvery-blond hair in a dirty mess, smudges of grey dust all over her. They started for the door leading back to the entrance chamber, Neville still carrying Hermione while trying to staunch the blood trickling down his face as Luna dragged a swaying and stumbling Ron along and Harry led, wand raised.

As soon as they got there, however, they realized that the relocation was seriously a bad idea, considering the remainder of the contingent of Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange, were waiting for them. Back they ran into the brain room, and the three uninjured members of the party sought to secure the doors , but Bellatrix cast a blasting curse, and the door fell inwards with a sickening crunch as the Death Eaters burst in. Luna was soon down, lying in a boneless heap beneath one of the desks, while the intoxicated Ron, having momentarily escaped from Harry's firm hold, managed to summon some of the aggressive brains out of their tank of bluish fluid. The...things promptly began trying to strangle him, and Harry tried desperately to cut the tentacles without cutting Ron, who was still laughing uproariously even as he was suffocating. As Harry frantically cast about for help, he saw Ginny struck in the face by a stunner out of the corner of his eye.

Harry could do nothing for her, nothing except to draw the rest of the Death Eaters away from her. Leaving Ginny and a now-unencumbered Ron unconscious, he bolted out into the heart of the death chamber, pursued by their opponents. By the strange curtailed archway Harry was surrounded, and Lucius again demanded the prophecy.

Harry, however, threatened to break it, and probably would have if not at that moment Neville, still bleeding from the nose, ran in to help. Bellatrix cackled demoniacally from next to Harry.

"What, does the ickle boy want to go the way of his parents?" she giggled.

Neville began to tremble, flushing in rage, but Bellatrix only raised her wand. "Hand over the prophecy, Potter, or I'll torture him..."

"D-don't listen to her!" Neville protested, before starting to scream as Bellatrix briefly cast the _cruciatus_. Harry's fingers slipped convulsively around the cool glass of the prophecy globe.

"That was only the beginning," said Bellatrix, as she let up on the gasping and struggling boy. "Hand it over if you don't want your little friend to end up like his parents."

Harry hesitantly raised the hand with the prophecy globe in it over Neville's objections...and that was when a door on the opposite side of the chamber flew open, and Sirius, Tonks, Remus, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody spilled out into the Death chamber, wands out and curses on their lips.

Tonks immediately blasted Lucius with a stunning spell, and Harry and Neville fled- well, Neville did; Harry was following close behind him when he was grabbed and pinioned by Walden Macnair. Harry shuddered- he could feel the cool pressure of the man's wand against his neck, and smell his sultry breath. But then Neville rammed Hermione's wand- near useless for him- through the eyehole of the man's Death Eater mask, and he screamed like an animal caught in a trap and released his hold. Harry, now aware of the identity of his erstwhile attacked furiously flung a stunner at him and turned to follow Neville again, only to be attacked by Dolohov, who had just incapacitated Mad-Eye Moody. Dolohov now followed this up by casting a _tarantallegra_ on Neville, who had turned back to help, and left him jerking about uncontrollably while he attempted to cast the same fire-whip spell he had cast on Hermione on Harry. A quick shield charm defeated the worst of it, and before Dolohov could cast anything else, Sirius body-slammed him and began to fling curses.

Harry promptly used that distraction to hit Dolohov with a body-bind (wishing it was something worse after what the man had just done to Hermione) and then ran again, trying to get back to where they had left the others, while behind him Kingsley was dueling Rookwood and Lestrange while the last remaining Marauders took on Bellatrix and Goyle respectively, now that Bellatrix had blasted Tonks out for the count.

Lucius Malfoy stopped the two Hogwarts students as they tried to leave to collect their wounded, but this time Harry passed Neville the prophecy ("Break it if you have to; you can't let them get a hold of you!") and blasted Lucius with a good strong impediment jinx. As the aristocratic Death Eater was staggering to his feet, Remus Lupin ran between them and ordered the students to round up the rest of their group and leave. As they ran for the exit, obeying him, the prophecy fell...and shattered.

Harry was petrified, despite the fact that he would have broken the prophecy globe himself if it were to fall into the Death Eaters' hands. So were the Death Eaters who'd seen, however, which might have proved an advantage, but as it was, there was already an advantage, because just then Albus Dumbledore himself burst through the same door that the order members had gained ingress by, wand held high and blazing, aura visible around him.

Dumbledore sprinted past Harry and Neville, impossibly fast for his age, and began at once to fire on the terrified Death Eaters. As soon as they realized who they were confronting, however, the complex spells he was casting were not even needed; once they saw him they turned and fled, Jugson even dropping his wand in his haste. Only Bellatrix, occupied with dueling her cousin Sirius, did not seem to notice that he was there.

The two wizards circled one another, Bellatrix blasting spells and Sirius blocking and dodging them, both of them totally oblivious to the fact that the rest of the Death Eaters were now frantically trying to escape Dumbledore's onslaught.

" **You've got to do better than that** , Trixie," Sirius was saying, taunting Bellatrix every time she missed a shot. "Even Pettigrew could cast a better cutting curse. How on earth did you get into Voldie's inner circle, is it just because you're his girlfriend? 'Cause if so, horrible taste- can he even get it up now that he's resurrected?"

Bellatrix was fuming. She screamed in fury, a blaze of red light streaking from the end of her wand, slamming into his chest, hurling him back into the Veil of death with his face still alight with laughter.

Harry glanced up, panting, from where he was fighting Mcnair...just in time to see the colored light strike the still-laughing Sirius in the chest, knocking him backwards into the ragged, whispering curtain drawn across the archway behind him...

Harry knew intellectually that it was too late, but he simply couldn't comprehend. "SIRIUS!" he screamed, lunging after him. Remus Lupin grabbed him by the back of his robes.

"Harry, he's gone, Sirius is gone," he was staying, a fistful of Harry's cloak and outer robes in his calloused hands.

Harry pulled away from Remus's soft embrace. "He's just on the other side! Don't you understand? We can bring him back!"

**"There's nothing you can do, Harry … nothing …. He's gone."**

"NO!" Harry screamed, and before Remus could stop him, he plunged bodily through the misty curtain and was gone.

* * *

It was white. Everything was placid and blank, not the white of mist or snow, but the white of something unfinished, the white of a canvas that hadn't been painted. Harry glanced around him in the nothingness.

"Sirius?" He turned in a circle, watching as, as if by brushstrokes, the Great Hall of Hogwarts began to slowly take shape. "Sirius?"

Nothing. Harry became vaguely aware that he was entirely naked, but even as he thought it, Hogwarts student robes appeared on the polished and unmarred, but empty Gryffindor table, and Harry quickly pulled them on, still looking around for Sirius.

And then he saw them.

A tall, vivacious young woman, with fire-red hair and almond-shaped eyes the same shade of emerald that his were was standing by the entrance. Beside her, with one arm around her, was a young man with messy black hair and kind brown eyes framed by circular glasses.

Harry forgot about the prophecy, about Sirius, about his friends, still fighting at the Ministry. He even forgot about Voldemort.

"M...mum? Dad?"

"Oh, Harry," Lily's voice was just like he remembered it, but full of peace, as she was no longer begging for her life. "I missed you so much!" And then she was running, throwing her arms around him. Harry gave a little choking sound and leaned into her embrace.

"So...am I dead then?" Harry asked, when he could speak. It felt strange to say. After all those years of narrow escapes, he had been killed by drapery. And his friends were at Voldemort's mercy. That sobered him. He would have gone on, but that was when James spoke.

"That's the thing, Prongslet," he said from behind Lily. "You're not. Yet."

"What do you mean, I'm not? How am I meeting you if-"

"If you're alive?" James supplied. "It's complicated. You might want to sit down for this one."

Harry glanced at his parents and then sat down on the head table.

"So, the first thing you have to know is that Dumbledore is a bastard."

"James!"

"Well it's the truth," James protested. "Ok, he's a manipulative SOB."

" _JAMES!"_

"Who leaves a baby old enough to walk on a doorstep all night? Or-"

"James, I know! You don't have to use vulgar language to get your point across." It sounded like an argument that his parents had had a lot.

"Um guys," Harry broke in. "What did he do to make you so mad?"

"Well, first of all, the fact that Voldie came after us is his fault. I mean, sure, Snivellus overheard the prophecy and ran to his precious master, but-"

"Whoa, whoa whoa, hold on!" Harry said. "What's this about Professor Snape and the prophecy?"

"You see," James began, "Snape was being the slimeball he always is, and he-"

"I'll tell it," Lily interrupted him. "Severus was waiting to be interviewed about the DADA position,"

"Or more likely just loitering around looking creepy," muttered James before Lily smacked him.

"And he overheard Trelawny telling Dumbledore a prophecy. There was another Death Eater there, too, and he heard it as well, so Severus had to go relate it to Voldemort. The prophecy said that there was a child who would have the power to kill Voldie, born "as the seventh month dies", so Voldemort decided to hunt all the kids born at the end of July. He decided I and Alice Longbottom were the ones he had to worry about, so he went to hunt us down. It was Dumbledore's suggestion to use Peter as our Secret Keeper when James refused to use him...he told me to obliviate him when we switched, but he's an occlumens! The obliviate shouldn't have held for more than a year or two!"

"You mean Dumbledore left Sirius in Azkaban?!" Harry burst out.

"It looks like it," said Lily sympathetically. "Even if he never regained his memories, which is, actually, a possibility, since I was halfway to being a Charms mistress when I died, he should have at least pushed for a trial- it's not like he couldn't pull any strings. Then there's your scar. I really can't forgive him for that one."

"What do you mean, my scar?"

"I...oh Harry..." she broke off, her grass-green eyes filled with tears.

"What she means to say is that a little bit of Voldie's soul got stuck in your scar and Dumbledork just left it there for years."

"James!"

"Well, it's the truth. I figured I'd just get it over with."

"Wait." Harry was having difficulties breathing, which was rather odd, since he _wasn't_. "Did you just say I had a piece of Voldemort's soul in my scar? And Dumbledore knew about it and just left it there?"

"Yes to both."

Harry gulped, feeling sick. "Do I want to know how that happened?"

"You probably don't, but you need to," James responded. "You see, the reason Moldy didn't die the first time was because he created things called horcruxes, which are really nasty pieces of dark magic, created by murdering someone and then doing this ritual that involves eating the heart of a black goat raw and-"

"I think he's got the picture, James,"

"And, well, other stuff," James said quickly. "So anyway, what I was going to say was that he split his soul into seven pieces, and by the time he got around to murdering us it was so unstable that a piece of it just sort of got loose and fell off when he got blasted by the killing curse. Once he was dead it sort of didn't know what to do and it just attached itself to the first thing it came across, and that was you. So basically the guy's just going to keep coming back until you kill all the bits and pieces. That's also why you get another shot at life, though, because when you fell through the Furnishing of Doom the chunk of Voldie's soul died instead."

"Well, that's one way to put it," said Lily dryly.

"So, recap," James went on. "When Voldie died the first time, part of his soul got stuck to you, and it's essentially a get out of purgatory free card. Dumbledore knew about it, _and_ the prophecy, and some other stuff he should have told you, and he didn't say a word. He also disregarded and sealed your mum's will and stuck you with the horse and the walrus. Moldy-Shorts cut his soul into little pieces and hid them around the world. The prophecy states: **The one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.** "Also, Snivellus is a git. I think I got everything, didn't I?"

Lily shook her head fondly. "That's not a recap, that's a whole summary," she told him. "And will you quit calling Severus that?"

"Whatever. Got the point across, didn't it? And no, _Snivellus_ deserves it."

"So...do you know what the prophecy means?" asked Harry, still overwhelmed.

"Yeah," James responded. "You're the Chosen One, you apparently got some kick-ass powers, and you and his Moldyness have to fight each other to the death. By the way, I'm 99.99% sure you're gonna kick his arse, since you're my kid."

"Um. Do you have any idea what powers I might have?"

"Well, Dumbledork thinks it's love, or something mushy like that. I mean, what are you going to do, snog him to death? I'm pretty sure it's Potter awesomeness, but Lils here has a few more concrete ideas."

" _More_ concrete ideas? I didn't see you having any concrete ideas at all."

"Well, you could sic an army of trained puffskeins on him. Or feed him nutella- supposedly he's allergic to hazelnuts- or-"

"James?"

"Yes dear?"

"Do me a favor and SHUT THE HECK UP! Sorry, Harry," she continued after James had closed his mouth. "When you have an eternity to spend together all the little spats you have can just get too much. So anyway, I think that the power the Dark Lord knows not is us. You literally walked into the veil of death and came back; no one else alive could do that. So naturally you will be changed when you come back. But aside from that, the prophecy may or may not be fulfilled; some never are. You just need to kill him. And I think I know a way to do that."

Harry stared at her. "How? What do I have to do?"

"Well, you could either hunt down all the magical trinkets he stores the pieces of his soul in and destroy them individually..."

"Or?"

"Or you could just annihilate his soul entirely."


	2. Chapter 2

"Destroy his soul entirely?" Harry echoed, staring at Lily.

"Yes," was her response. "It's a very old, very Dark spell; it was actually the first spell in Britain to be legally declared black magic, and although its not actually listed as an unforgivable (since by the time the unforgivables were outlawed the full incantation had been lost) it is still well...illegal, although with the destruction of all sources mentioning it, the ministry records had to go too."

"It's illegal?" asked Harry hesitantly.

"Well, yes. It is a spell which literally destroys every little scrap of your soul, even if you have a horcrux...or more than one. But it's the best way to kill Voldemort, and it's the safest for you, because his horcruxes are very heavily cursed and would likely kill anyone who tries to get at them, whatever Dumbledore thinks."

"So I should do it?" Harry asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yes." Her voice left no grounds for doubt. "We can see the future, here, and the paths in which you use the spell are better, happier."

"So how do I do it?" Harry asked, now determined.

"The incantation is 'exanimo'," she told him, using a pure white rod which appeared in her hand to demonstrate the wand-movements. "And you have to make sure it only hits Voldemort, because it's not reversable."

Harry nodded, practicing the movement himself as though with an invisible wand. "Exanimo?"

"Soul out of," she translated. "No, swish it a little further, like so," and she guided his hand. Harry felt so happy he felt as though he might burst, just feeling her soft warm hand around his, which he had imagined for years. Meanwhile James watched the two of them with a fond smile.

Harry practiced it dozens of times, so that he could do the movement almost without thinking. At last Lily laid a warm soft hand on his arm. "That's probably enough, baby. Time passes differently here, but it doesn't stop entirely, and there are a few more things we have to get through. And then hopefully there will be enough time to just get to know each other."

Harry grinned up at her, ecstatic at the thought of getting to know his parents, not just through Remus's stories and Hagrid's pictures, but through actually talking with them. "So what else do I have to know to win this war?" Harry asked.

"Well, for one thing, when you kill Voldemort, all of his Death Eaters will die. There are three of them who don't deserve it: Igor Karkaroff, Severus Snape, and a lower-ranking Death Eater named Tarquin Rosier. After their master is gone, you'll have twenty-four hours to save them before the Mark stops torturing them and starts draining their magic and killing them. I suggest that you also save Lucius Malfoy, not because he deserves it, but because I don't want Draco to be an orphan and because a Malfoy life-debt would be very helpful if you needed any kind of influence."

Harry stared at her. "Ok," he said at last. "But...um...how do I do that? Remove the mark, I mean."

"You have to apply a certain potion which is sold in almost every retail store to cleanse dark artifacts, put your palm against it and say 'release totally' in parseltongue," Lily told him. "It will cause a lot of pain and likely knock the wizard out, and then the Dark Mark has to leech out through their skin over the course of a few days- obviously Voldemort hadn't intended that anyone but himself would be able to remove it."

Harry blinked, nodding. "Ok. Wait-" he added, as something occurred to him, "will I still be able to speak parseltongue? Dumbledore said I could only do it because of my link to Voldie, and-"

It was then that Lily started laughing.

"What?"

"Dumbledore got it totally wrong," was her reply. "Either that or he lied to you. Parseltongue is just another Wizarding power, albeit very rare. I'm one."

"What!?"

"Oh, yeah, I was a parselmouth, but Severus warned me I should probably keep the ability to myself, so I did. Jamey wasn't too happy when he found out," she continued, grinning. "I had to make him sleep on the couch for a week before he would stop ranting about slimy snakes..."

"I did _not_ need to know that," was Harry's response, and Lily laughed again.

"I wasn't even related to Salazar Slytherin, either," she continued, when she had stopped laughing. "I was related to a guy called Ismet, who was an Indian healer and parselmouth. Apparently that meant I was somehow a halfblood though, which is a little odd after I'd gotten used to considering myself a muggleborn. Not that it really makes much of a difference, except to snotty purebloods like Lucius Malfoy..."

Harry grinned. "I wish I could tell Draco Malfoy, just to see his face. It would be priceless!"

Lily laughed along with him.

They sat and talked for several more hours, (or at least that's what it felt like in this timeless place) before at last Harry noticed that Lily's skin was starting to grow translucent, and that he could see the white armchair James had conjured for himself through his legs.

Lily seemed to see it too. "Baby, it's time to go."

"What? But-" Harry began to protest.

"We can't stay forever, Prongslet," James added gently. "The 'station' is only open for so long...then you either have to follow us or go back."

"Just a few more minutes!"

"Harry, we can't." Lily pulled Harry into a desperate hug, followed by James so that Harry was nearly suffocated between them. "We would if we could but you need to go back before it's too late. You have a life ahead of you- a long, beautiful one. We will wait for you as long as we have to- right now you need to live."

"You're going to make history, Prongslet!"

"But I don't want to make history!" Harry knew he sounded sulky and childish, but damn it, why couldn't he have what _he_ wanted, just this once? "I just want to be Harry, not the Chosen One or the freak or the attention-seeking git or the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Have-a-Hyphenated-Name. I just want to be with you."

"We know, Harry, we know." Lily's voice was very soft. "But you need to kill Voldemort. And...could you take a few messages, remember a few things for me?"

"Y-yes, anything."

"Right. Tell Dumbledore first that he's an idiot and second that it was Ariana's time, and that no one with her condition can live longer than five years. Tell him that she killed herself, and it wasn't his fault."

"Tell Lupin that we love him and went him to live for us, and that he needs to get laid," James broke in.

"Tell Severus that I forgive him, and that he should not be afraid to love," Lily said.

"Give Wormtail a good smack upside the head for me," was James's second contribution. "And tell Snivellus that I'm sorry but that he's still a git. Actually, leave off that first part."

"James! You have no idea how much he's been through, especially on top of all your nasty pranks!"

"He's a Death Eater! Plus, he had no right to vent all his frustrations on Harry, and plus he's a slimy snake who ought to wash his hair."

"He's a spy for the Light!" Lily argued. "Yes, he was into the Dark Arts, but so much of that was coming from an abused household and then being _bullied_." She gave James a pointed look. "And on top of it, Lucius Malfoy was grooming him to be a Death Eater from the moment he entered the Slytherin dorms. He was a halfblood! He had no other choice!"

"He called you a mudblood!"

"Yes, and it still hurts, but he was humiliated. And he had a crush on you."

"WHAT?!" issued from two throats.

"He's bi, although I don't think he ever told anyone but me, Regulus and Lucius," Lily said. "And Lucius used his attraction to convince him to take the Dark Mark, so he probably hasn't told anyone since, either."

"We're talking about Snape here?" said Harry in a very faint voice.

"Yes. And- oh, Harry, you need to go, it's almost too late! Remember that we'll always love you, and tell your friends that we approve. And tell Neville that he's a great wizard and a great godson and that I miss him and-"

"And remember I'll always love you, pup." That was Sirius. Harry whirled around. "Sirius!"

"It's me, pup- took a little while to find my way here..."

The man hugged him, and Harry stared breathlessly into his face, grey eyes now no longer bearing the haunted look from Azkaban. "Pup, I'll always..."

But at that moment his voice faded away, and so did the replica of the Great Hall. And he was falling through icy black fog, skeletal hands clutching at him as he fell. And then he came into contact with some kind of silken screen. His fingernails tore at it as he fought to escape this limbo until at last he fell through. Into the death chamber in the department of mysteries, where Remus was still screaming "Harry!" and Bellatrix was laughing insanely.

It was time to do what he had been born for. But first he had to comfort Remus.

Harry burst through the ragged curtain, feeling an odd twisting in his guts and an aching in his lungs as his body resumed its normal functions, startling a choking sob from Remus Lupin, who seemed to have simply been standing where he had been when Harry had leaped into the void; or perhaps time had simply stopped all together. Harry ran to throw his arms around the shaking werewolf, inhaling the smell of sweat and cheap cologne.

"Remus, it's fine, I'm ok," he panted. "But I can't explain right now; I've got to fight. Just- don't you dare die on me," he said, squeezing for an instant and then letting go.

"Harry..."

Harry felt bad for cutting him off like this, but Bellatrix was getting away every second he deliberated, and he still had to find Voldemort so that he could implement his new spell. "Remus, don't worry about me, just help me keep my friends alive," he told him, turning to chase Bellatrix.

"Harry!" Remus called after him, but he only yelled right back over his shoulder not to worry and chased Bellatrix out of the Department and through into the main Atrium of the Ministry while Remus was still staring after him and Dumbledore was still staring at the Veil.

In the Atrium, Bellatrix at last whirled to face him. "Potty, did I make you angry?" she cackled, flinging a blasting hex that forced him to dodge behind the bling and incredibly racist Fountain of Magical Brethren. Harry felt momentarily gratified when the head of the golden wizard blew off, although he was still seething with fury at Bellatrix. All the same, she'd indirectly helped him meet his parents and saved him a lot of research...and for him, Sirius had died almost two hours ago, or the equivalent of that in limbo. He thus astonished her by grinning.

"On the contrary, you were a big help, Bella dear-" he said, pausing to blast off a disarming charm before taking cover behind the fountain again and adding "'Cause now I know how to kill your precious 'Master'." Two _could_ play this game...

Bellatrix threw an entrails-expelling curse back at him with a feral scream, and this time the golden house elf cracked down the middle as he dodged.

"Save the drama for someone who cares!" Harry said viciously then, shooting a barrage of stunners at her. She screamed the _cruciatus_ , as well as a number of nasty spells that Harry probably didn't want to know the functions of, but her aim was wide and manic now, and Harry dodged every one. The centaur lost an arm.

"Surrender!" she shrilled desperately, casting more dark magic. "You cannot win against me, and my master will be here soon. Surrender the prophecy!"

Unnoticed by the two of them, several ministry workers and officials, entering the Atrium as they were wont to do, were now staring at them wide-eyed as they dueled. One of them called the aurors and the other the Minister, but the two of them only went on dueling obliviously.

"Why should I surrender?" Harry retorted, flinging another stunner and wishing idly that he had more in his combat arsenal. "You're not much, and I've defeated Voldie like four times now? I'm not sure." He pretended to count on his fingers.

"I am His most loyal servant!" she screamed fanatically. "I learned the Dark arts at his knee! You, boy, can't possibly match up to that! Give me the prophecy, and I'll kill you quickly!"

Harry laughed. "Then you'll just have to kill me, 'cause the prophecy's broken. But I don't- _stupify_ \- think you're going to be- _expelliarmus_ \- doing _that_ anytime- _reducto_ \- soon," he said, ducking again as she tried to cast a torture curse. "I bet your master isn't going to be happy that you let it slip through your fingers, is he?"

"Lies!" Bellatrix wailed in terrified hysteria, and Harry felt almost sorry for the sniveling witch. "Nothing but lies!" She paused for a moment, trembling. "Is it? Oh, Master, I am loyal, don't punish me please!"

Was Voldemort actually here, or was that just her insanity talking? Harry shivered. Could the last battle be closer than he had anticipated? "Your 'master' can't hear you," he mocked with forced but realistic laughter.

It was at that moment that a high, cold voice washed over the two of them from behind, and Harry cursed himself for not keeping an eye on his surroundings. Because Voldemort, in all his pale, snake-faced glory, was now in the equation. Voldemort repulsed Bellatrix as she fawned on him as usual, before turning to Harry. The boy felt something crushing its way into his brain, but, remembering the dismal occlumency lessons with Snape, gave a mental shove back. As with the occlumency lessons, it wasn't working well.

Harry started to pant with the effort of keeping the monster out, knowing that he had to, that his very life depended on it. He could see Bellatrix moving in the corner of his eye, and knew he had to do _something_.

Some part of him wanted to taunt Voldemort, to have the usual pissing contest and end up the victor, to make Voldemort hurt for what he had done to him. But he knew that it would be better just to get it over with, rather than to have q long, protracted final battle that the newspapers would lap up. " _Exanimo_ ," he panted simply, aiming his wand at Voldemort. "Goodbye, Tom."

Voldemort gave an unearthly scream. Agony and peace whiplashed across his face, and then he crumpled into a spasming heap and then was still, as Bellatrix sobbed, likely recognizing the spell, or perhaps parsing the Latin. You could never tell with a dark scion.

It was over. So why did Harry feel so apprehensive?

He would soon find out.

For a long moment, Harry simply stood there numbly, unable to move. That was _it_? It couldn't be! It was too easy, wasn't it? At last Harry was shaken out of his stupor by Bellatrix's wail and the Ministry workers and officials that were suddenly swarming around him.

He was never more grateful for Dumbledore's appearance.

Dumbledore peremptorily shut everyone up, explained the situation: that yes, Voldemort had returned, yes, that was him on the ground, and no, it was not some elaborate hoax. Then he managed to organize some of the aurors and officials who were not writhing as the Dark Mark sucked their life slowly out by their left arms to find the rest of the DA and get them to St. Mungo's, before portkeying Harry back to Hogwarts without so much as a "by your leave".

Harry could not help feeling resentful, just a little. What was he, an expensive appliance to be safely packed away when he was not in use, regardless of his feelings?

The resentment only increased when Dumbledore returned and, rather than letting him go back to the Hospital Wing to get treated for battle wounds and attempted possession, or letting him go and save the Death Eaters who were on his list to save, he sat him down with tea and sweeties, and proceeded to try to "explain to him" about the prophecy he should have mentioned in Harry's first year, and then told him that Voldemort had "means by which to return to life", and that basically Harry had done nothing but slow him down a little. He then insinuated that it was Harry's fault that Sirius had died, because he hadn't learned occlumency, and did his whole "disappointed grandfather" act. It would have been more effective if Harry hadn't known what to look for.

As it was, he was just angry, but was rather too prudent to show it, and pretended to grieve and to still be Dumbledore's good little Golden Boy, even if he were fuming inside, although that mask was nearly destroyed entirely when Dumbledore added that he was afraid Harry "was still in danger from Death Eater sympathizers", and would have to go back to Privet Drive. Again. And when Harry asked about saving the Death Eaters, Dumbledore just twinkled at him and told him it was all going to be ok, and not to worry about it.

Harry showed the appropriate level of indignation (and sweet Merlin, that was only the top of the iceberg) but didn't argue; at this point he was slightly more worldwise and knew it wouldn't do any good. He was also simply tired and grieving.

At last, Dumbledore let him go, and he promptly stumbled down to the dungeons and banged on Professor Snape's office door. No answer. Harry banged again, and then surmised that he was probably not in his office to begin with, and cast a "point me", leading him down a corridor that he'd never had the temerity to go down before; it wasn't like he explored the dungeons in his spare time. And then, at last, he came upon a portrait of Salazar Slytherin, and his wand stopped. He knocked. Also no answer. Was Snape already too far gone? Panicking, he began to list various possible passwords. "Salazar. Slytherin. Snake. Viper. Basilisk. Wormwood. Asphodel. Lily. Lily Flower. Lily Pad. Bezoir. Felix Felicis. Polyjuice. Veritaserum. Damn it, open!"

And then, as if prompted by his words, the door was flung open. "Potter!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Sir, I'm sorry," Harry burst out, looking at the apoplectic Potions Master, "but there's literally no time. Do you have a standard cleansing potion for dark artifacts?"

"...yes." Snape looked confused now, if just as angry. "Since when does that warrent banging on my door like a-"

"I need it, now!" Harry snapped, "there's no time! I have bloody twenty-four hours!"

"Language, Potter," Snape called, but he had obviously grasped that the potion was important, because he hurried back into his quarters and returned within moments with a bottle full of a dark brown, medicinal-smelling substance.

Harry practically snatched it out of his hand. "Right. Thank you."

"So now, perhaps you could explain?" Snape's voice was beginning to have a dangerous edge to it. "What exactly do you need it for?"

"Not here," Harry responded, taking a step forward. "Inside, or in your office. I don't want Dumbledore getting in the way."

One dark brow arched. "Professor Dumbledore," Snape corrected. A pause. "Fine. You may enter my quarters. If you _ever_ tell anyone that I let you in, however-"

"Yes, yes, you'll make me into potions ingredients. Sorry sir, but we've got to hurry!"

Snape grudgingly stepped back to allow him to enter, before closing and locking the door behind them. "So now what is it," he said, when they were both seated on his couch in the main part of his quarters.

"Voldemort's dead."

_"What?"_

"He's dead. I killed him."

Snape sat back, looking faint. One hand began to absentmindedly stroke his left arm, and Harry could see it was already draining him, although it did not seem severe enough to cause that level of shock, which probably had more to do with the fact that a fifteen-year-old boy had just killed his old master and the bane of his existence. "I...how...?"

Harry took pity on him. "It's a long story that will have to wait until we deal with your mark, but the jist of it is that I banished his soul."

"You what?!" Snape looked like he was on the verge of drawing his wand on him.

"I know it was dark, but considering he'd been practicing soul magic there was nothing else I could really do," Harry told him, leaning back slightly from the volatile wizard. "But the reason I came here is because I have to remove your Dark Mark."

"How? Dumbledore said-"

Harry's vibrant green eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore said a lot of things. He's not always right."

"What do I have to do?" Snape asked abruptly, sounding resigned.

Harry wondered why. "All you need to do is let me apply the potion and say the incantation; I'm the one who has to cast it because it's in parseltongue," Harry said, slightly confused.

"No," said Snape heavily. "I mean, what price are you exacting? You know perfectly well how much I want this, and there's no reason for you to do it for me after the way I...have treated you. It would only be right if you wanted a favor in return."

Harry was horrified. "Professor, you're going to _die_ if I don't remove your mark. It would be sick to pressure you for this!"

Snape stared at him. "Do you," he began, then swallowed, "do you really mean that?"

"Just hold out your arm!"

Snape slowly extended it, still staring at Harry as though he were some sort of feral animal that might or might not bite him at any given moment. Harry drew the cork out of the potion bottle with his teeth and let the dark brown fluid within dribble out onto his cupped hand. "Sorry Professor, but this is probably going to hurt," he added as he was waiting until he had enough potion collected in his hand to go on.

"That does not matter." Black eyes slipped shut, and Snape sat there soundlessly as though waiting for the ax to fall. And perhaps he was.

Harry then put the bottle down, as he had enough cleansing potion in his hand now, and drew back Snape's sleeve, revealing the dark mark pulsing an ugly dark red on Snape's pale arm. He slapped his potion-covered hand down on the mark, eliciting a hiss from the agonized Death Eater, and then gathered up his strength.

"Releassssse totally!" he hissed, and Snape gave a strangled moan and began thrashing, silent tears leaking from his eyes. And then he was still, totally senseless.

Harry simply stared down at the limp form in his lap, lost in thought. His stern, even vicious teacher looked more vulnerable than he had ever seen him, more vulnerable than he would have thought possible. It was harder, now, to hate him when he was lying insensate, completely at Harry's mercy. The thought _I could do anything to him_ wormed its way into his brain, and he winced; what kind of person plotted revenge on someone who was totally at his mercy? To be honest, Harry would probably be the first to say that Professor Snape had been a right bastard to him, but just because they had a lot of bad blood did not mean that it would be right to take revenge. Unbidden, Harry began to toy with Snape's long black hair, surprised at the fact that it was _not_ , actually greasy.

"Potter! What the hell are you doing?"

Harry blushed and hastily untangled his hand. "You're awake!"

"Obviously," was the professor's response. "May I ask why you felt the need to pet me like I was a crup?"

Harry's face grew hotter still. "I was just thinking," he responded, barely able to keep the stutter out of his voice. Had he really been _petting_ Snape?

A dark brow arched. "There was no need for you to stay, unless there is something you want from me?"

"You're suggesting that I should have just left you unconscious in your chambers with the door unlocked?"

"The door is automatically warded, idio-" Snape broke off. "I apologize. That last was probably uncalled for."

Harry hadn't even noticed. "It's fine, sir," he responded quietly. "Um, do you know how I would get a hold of Tarquin Rosier and Igor Karkaroff?"

Snape's eyes widened. "You intend to remove their marks?" he asked at length.

"Yeah. Probably Lucius too, for Draco. Is there anyone else you want to save?"

"Gemma Crabbe nee Prince," Snape said at last. "My cousin. Unless I'm mistaken, her brute of a husband forced her to take the mark."

"How can I reach them?"

"The floo ought to be best, first." Snape rose, wobbling on unsteady legs. "I'll floo them."

"Shouldn't you be sitting down?"

"They will be more likely to trust such news coming from me." Snape had, by this point, reached the fireplace, and was gripping the mantle with such force that his knuckles were whitening, looking for all the world as if he was going to collapse any minute.

"Professor, we can wait just a few more minutes-"

"No. You said we have twenty-four hours. In that case I can certainly stand long enough to save a few lives." Snape picked up an elegant silver floo powder pot by the poker stand by the fireplace, popped it open, and took out a pinch of the glittery substance, tossing it into the fire. "Safe House Number Seven."

In a few moments, the face of the older Death Eater appeared in the blazing green flames. "Severus? What is it- is it important? You know the floo is tracked."

"It is very much so. Igor, the Dark Lord is dead."

"Nevŭzmozhen!" the man shouted, momentarily lapsing into Bulgarian in his surprise. "Impossible," he breathed again, eyes wide.

"No, it is quite possible and happened this afternoon. Can you come through? I need to talk to you."

"We are talking, aren't we?" said Karkaroff suspiciously.

"What I want to tell you is not floo secure, and there's also someone else who would like to speak to you."

There was a pause, and then the Death Eater climbed through the floo and knelt, panting, on the ground for a long moment, on his hands and knees. His pale face was nearly grey; it seemed life in hiding had not been kind to the former headmaster. "What is it, Severus?"

"The Mark. It has to be removed."

"What do you mean?"

"It will suck out your life, Igor. You want to live?"

"Of course I do, but I fail to see how it is possible to remove it, or why you would care. And I've researched it for fifteen years."

"You're not a parselmouth."

Karkaroff stared. "Who is this parselmouth who thinks he can take it off?"

"That would be me," Harry, who had been listening to the whole thing, responded. "And I don't _think_ I can remove it, I know I can!"

Karkaroff was obviously nonplussed by Harry's lack of a scar. At last he rasped "Potter?"

"Yes. Now, if you want your mark stripped, you'll have to let me do it."

Karkaroff sucked in a deep breath at Harry's impudence, but held out his arm.

"Ok. This will be painful, and it will take about three days for the mark to be removed entirely, but you should live." And Harry filled his hand with potion (despite a little wince at the irritation to his skin- this was a potion usually used with gloves) and slapped it onto the Dark Mark with a hiss of parseltongue.

Karkaroff screamed, arching and twisting as Harry tried to hold him down until the combination of potion and parselmagic could begin the process of removing the mark. And then he sank back, unconscious. Harry laid him on the sofa and wiped the excess potion off his hands. "What about Tarquin?"

As it turned out, it took most of the rest of the day to save the other Death Eaters that were on Harry's list, as Tarquin Rosier was the only one who was capable of flooing to Snape's rooms under his own volition, and he was understandably concerned about the "Gryffindor Golden Boy" messing with the mark that already branded him to an insane Dark Lord. Harry had to swear an oath on his life and magic (despite Professor Snape's protests) to make Tarquin believe that he only wanted to remove his mark. After that, Snape side-along apparated Harry to Malfoy Manor, where a tearful and suspicious Narcissa Malfoy let them in. Professor Snape talked to her for a short time (Harry didn't know what they said) but it seemed to have convinced her, because shortly thereafter, she led him to the Malfoy's posh master bedchamber, where Lucius was lying, nearly catatonic with magical drain and muttering incoherently, on the sky blue silk of the bed.

Harry had honestly always hated the arrogant pureblood, but that didn't mean that he wanted him to die. He was by his side in an instant. "The potion?"

Professor Snape handed him the mostly-empty bottle of cleansing potion. "Is there enough?"

"There better be," Harry returned, tilting the bottle and looking at its contents with a critical eye. "Hm. This should work." And without any more delay, as Lucius was worsening every second that he deliberated, he filled his hand with the itchy cleansing substance, drew back Lucius's green velvet and lace sleeve, and raised his hand over the mark. "Oh, sweet Merlin," he muttered. "Riddle is such a twisted bastard." Then he laid his palm over the weeping and blistering mark a little more carefully than he had originally intended. Lucius still moaned at the contact, trying to pull away with a delirious mutter of "Father, please". Harry couldn't help an odd flicker of compassion- perhaps Lucius had a reason for being such a prat. All the same, he didn't let it stop him. He carefully lifted the abused arm and murmured "Releasssssse totally," in the sybillant language of the snakes, garnering a startled squeak from Narcissa (not that Harry noticed, although Professor Snape smirked). And then Lucius screamed. Harry had never in his life heard anything so truly terrible save for Voldemort's laugh. A scream like that was terrible enough; from a man who prided himself on his composure, even under the cruciatus, it was still more so. The cry, however, quickly died away into silence as Lucius Malfoy lost consciousness. On the instant, Narcissa Malfoy was by his side.

"What did you do to him?!" she asked, with the sharpness of real desperation. Harry blinked.

"Removed his mark with parselmouth. Did Professor Snape tell you what I was going to do?"

"He didn't say it would hurt him like that!" she responded. "And how did you know how to do that, anyway?"

"I can't tell you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Can't, or won't? And if you were planning on removing it, why is it still there? I was willing to trust Severus to an extent, but-"

"Ma'am, the mark won't go away immediately. I broke the connection to Ridd- um, the Dark Lord, but the mark will take about three days to go away entirely, because the skin has to literally peel off. It's not pretty, but at least he won't be dead."

She blanched at this. "And...I see. The Malfoy family owes you a debt," she said after a moment, transitioning to a stiff sort of pureblood hostess formality.

Harry wanted to tell her "no problem," but from what little he knew of pureblood society, that would not be a good idea, and besides, there was quite a good chance that Harry would end up calling on the Malfoy family to join him in an alliance or such, if ever he needed to influence high society. Or perhaps he might need to ask for some tutoring in pureblood manners, speaking of his deficit. In any case, he replied with a smooth: "Thank you, my lady," and hoped that she wouldn't find it offensive. It seemed to work, too, judging by the faint approval in Professor Snape's dark eyes and her small smile. Harry was, however, still quite uncomfortable in the large and drafty manor, whose walls seemed so full of dark magic, and there was Gemma Prince nee Crabbe to save, so he let Snape give the farewells, added a cautious goodbye himself, and followed his Potions Professor through the floo, stumbling out to land back in Professor Snape's personal quarters.

Gemma Crabbe was possibly the hardest of all of them to reach, considering that the floo was answered by a tipsy and nervous house elf, who would say nothing but "Masters being indisposed, Professor Sevvy sir," until Snape finally pushed her gently but unemotionally out of the way and prepared to step through the floo.

"I thought you couldn't just walk though another wizard's floo like that?" Harry asked. Severus's dark gaze pinned him like an insect to a cork board.

"Normally, no," he replied grimly. "This is Prince Manor, though, Gemma's dowry. No one who has Prince blood can be warded out, no matter who he or she is. You, on the other hand...the wards would fry you. Stay here."

"But-"

"But nothing! If she's still alive, I'll bring her through the floo with me." And then Professor Snape stepped through the whirling green flames and was gone.

He returned within minutes, face pale, carrying a limp young woman, pale and bruised, and with running mascara, marking a long streak down her nose. Harry was instantly at his side. "How is she?"

"Dying," replied the Potions Master, voice almost emotionless. "She was dying from the moment she was married off to that...imbecile." That last word was hissed with more venom than had it been the worst curse known to mankind. Professor Snape carefully lowered the woman to his couch, then summoned another bottle of cleansing potion. "Be careful, Potter," was all he said, but Harry could hear the desperation plain in his voice, not that he would have commented. He was indeed careful as he eased up the pale blue silk of her fluted sleeves, sickened as he saw that the cloth was actually stuck to the wound with gore, and trying to ignore her stifled whimpers. The removal of the mark was the same as the others, except that the drain and damage was more pronounced in Gemma, and thus the procedure was even more delicate than Lucius's had been, and once Harry had forced the mark to release its hold, he left Gemma Prince to her cousin's care and left, not noticing the contemplative look that Professor Snape shot after him or the suddenly startled and vastly interested gaze of one of the portraits.

He got back to the common room only to enter it in the middle of a gigantic party. Evidently Ginny (the only one of their little group of fighters besides Luna who had not sustained major damage) had told everyone of Voldemort's death, and something of an impromptu party had sprung up, with red and gold streamers all over the common room and enough glitter that it looked like someone had let Dobby at it- and they probably had, come to think of it. The twins had apparently sent along a number of posters that had most of the students nearly howling: Rest in Pieces, Lord Moldyshorts, Goodbye Umbitch, and Educational Decree #477: Students Not Permitted to Breathe were there, among others. Some of the upper years had snuck in some firewhisky and what looked to be a drinking game was going on in the corner, while Colin's camera was flashing and snapping like mad and everyone was trying to talk at him or grab at him. Damn. If he'd known that defeating Voldemort was going to cause _this_ , he might have considered waiting for summer!

It wasn't that Harry didn't want to celebrate. Oh, no, on the contrary! But Gryffindor parties were always loud, flashy, and riotous, and he tended to have a massive headache after nearly all of them. Besides, having to tell his "heroic exploits" over and over and over to a giggling audience of fans who would never understand the difficulty and moral agony involved in killing (even killing a mad man) was not his idea of fun. They would never understand. The war, for them, was distant, far off. They understood the cost intellectually, but they had never killed, and some had not even witnessed death close at hand. Quidditch they could understand. The control of the ministry, corrupt politics...well, what with Umbridge, most of the upper years could grasp that, too. But fighting a dark wizard so feared that his name was not spoken by any but the bravest of men or the fools? Killing him? No, that was something that they would doubtless not understand for at least a few more years, and perhaps never. Nor could many of them understand the dim pain that still ached inside Harry when he thought of Sirius. Although it was not as bad as it might have been, if Harry could not have found closure, it was still an ache that Harry knew would take years to scab over to the point that it didn't hurt anymore. Harry managed to suffer through the party in the common room for a little while, but he was so tired of being pawed over. Even after he tried to retreat to the dorms, he could get no peace, as Colin was waiting with his camera, wanting to get a historic picture of the "conquering hero". Merlin, Harry could only imagine what the reporters and paparazzi _outside_ the castle would be like.

Harry longed to be away, at least, away from the fuss of the Gryffindor commons. Perhaps he could go to the kitchens for a snack, and then go and eat it by the lake? It would be a small celebration, he thought, and one that would at least remember the dead. Besides, the only ones he wanted to talk to right now were either dead or in the hospital wing...or Luna. Harry blinked. Luna. She would be someone who would understand, or, if she didn't, would at least not paw over him and ask him to show his scars. The odd, gentle Ravenclaw was a great conversationalist, and she generally always got things right, and...and she would also just be good to share a butterbeer with.

Harry paused, then headed towards Ravenclaw tower.

She was standing as though waiting for him, silvery eyes lighting as she caught sight of him. "Harry," she said, with a silvery giggle.

Harry smiled a little. "You want to go get a butterbeer? It's too loud in the Gryffindor commons."

"And they don't understand," she replied softly. It was not a question.

Harry heaved a long sigh, feeling somehow much older than his fifteen years. "No," he replied, more subdued now as if by her quietness. "No, they don't." A pause. "Neither does Dumbledore, really. He wants to send me back to the Dursleys."

"Of course. Why would he want you strong now that Tom is gone?"

Harry stiffened. "What?"

"You're a threat." For once her heart-shaped face was deadly serious. "Now that Tom is gone, he's going to start worrying about what you might do to him, to his plans. The chessmaster never lets a pawn live, does he."

A chill ran through Harry, and he stopped in the middle of tickling the pear painting so they could enter the kitchens. "You think so?"

"I know." She straightened with a smile. "Of course, you could become a queen..."

"A what?" Harry stared at her. "Why would I become a queen?" Honestly, he was _male_ , thank you very much!

"If the pawn reaches the other side of the chessboard, it becomes a queen," she said, unperturbed. "You could do that, too. Reach the other side of the chessboard." She reached past him to let them into the kitchen. "But first, I think you need a butterbeer. And possibly a vacation."

"Definitely a butterbeer," Harry replied. "But how would I go on a vacation? Dumbles probably has Privet Drive watched by Order members!"

" _Tempore peregrinatio_ ," she replied, without missing a beat. "Just say the spell, and you'll be too far away for Professor Bumblebee to track you."

"But the Trace!"

"Won't be a problem where you're going."

"Is that..." Harry's Latin had never been good, but it sounded like she was implying...

"Yes. Time travel. Harry, you need a break, and it'll be fun!"

"But...I thought time travel was illegal? And that it would kill you! How would I even get back?"

"Illegal...maybe. I never really checked." She smiled "but no, it won't kill you, not unless you do something stupid and rile up the locals in whatever time you're in, or you try to meet yourself, and it will just bump you back either when you do something that could endanger the timeline or you say _tempore domus_. Time has a habit of fixing itself, you know, so as long as you don't murder anyone or try to save your parents, you should be fine. And anyway, the spell doesn't take you to a specific time. It just takes you to _a_ time. I met Ignatius Peverell once," she added dreamily. "He was quite a nice chap, too. Anyway, let's have a butterbeer."

Harry didn't know what to say to this, so he just took the offered butterbeer and they collected some snacks from the elves and headed in the general direction of the lake, to throw crusts at the giant squid.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry could not stop thinking of the spell that Luna had given him. He knew that it was probably a horrendously bad idea, but the idea of going back in time, to a time in which he would not be famous because of a scar on his head, a time in which he could do whatever he wanted, within reason. He thought about it the last few days left before the break (escaping the non-stop partying and mayhem to work on his homework in in the Room of Requirement, talking to Luna under the stars, hiding out from rabid fans in the Hufflepuff common room, because they were actually polite enough to give him some space), thought about it all during the train ride home, thought about it at King's Cross and on the sullen and silent car-ride home. His parents! Voldemort gone! Time travel! A vacation! A pawn can become a queen! All of it rattled around and around and around in his skull until-

"Boy!"

Harry jerked his head up, realizing vaguely that Uncle Vernon's company car had stopped in the driveway of No. 4 Privet drive. They'd arrived. "Yes Uncle Vernon?" he asked distractedly, having gotten out of the car. He was instantly shaken out of his daze by a palm harshly contacting with the side of his face.

"You look me in the eye when I'm talking to you." There was something sinister in the man's face, or at least as sinister as the rather overweight and unhealthy man could manage. "There'll be no funny business this summer, you hear?"

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry went to the side door and got Hedwig out, then went to get his trunk out. As he laid a hand on it, piggy eyes narrowed behind him, and Uncle Vernon's voice snapped: "Don't bother getting your trunk out of the car. Tomorrow it's going to the Heart Foundation."

Harry's eyes widened, letting the trunk, which he had lifted part of the way, fall back on the seat in his shock. Damn, this was not good. While he'd always made sure that he had some essentials with him, (his cloak, map, and wand, as well as notes, an all purpose healing potion, a little food, and a picture of his parents, along with a fake wand he could give Uncle Vernon to take away) he usually needed more than just the single phial of all-purpose healing draught after he had been ruffed up or bitten by Aunt Marge's dogs or whatnot, and he did need the food; it was a toss-up as to whether his _dearest_ relations would actually feed him this summer. Plus, although he was no longer as hungry for things of his parents as he had once been, it would hurt like hell to give up his photo album. Plus, he didn't particularly want to lose his clothes and books, even if he could probably just ask Mrs. Weasley to let him go get some more.

He knew better than to argue, though, although a "What?" was forced almost involuntarily from his lips. Uncle Vernon practically _snarled_ at that. Seriously, though, what could have made Uncle Vernon so angry with him- or more angry than usual? Harry shivered. Something told him that this summer would be interesting, to say the very least.

"Don't you talk back to me, boy. You aren't so confident now, are you. Bet the freaks threw you away..."

What was his problem?! Well, aside from the fact that Harry existed, Harry thought miserably. He had always been harsh, but Harry could not help thinking wishing that the man could have given it a rest, just for the first few days after Harry had gotten back. He could tolerate chores and being ignored, but being practically pounced on from the moment he exited the car was a little much, especially after the adulation he and his friends had received for being the ones to see/facilitate Voldemort's downthrow. Although he really ought to have gotten used to _that_ years before.

Uncle Vernon's face took on a distinctly ugly expression, which made him look even nastier than he already did, and Harry realized that he had once again been spacing out. "Get in the house," he snarled, without even giving Harry even a moment to try to explain himself, although Harry doubted that he would have listened even if Harry had been allowed to do such a thing. Harry was growing distinctly nervous now, but he followed the man into the house, not really seeing another option that would not end with him being expelled. In hindsight, that was actually a rather foolish idea. Uncle Vernon was very much conscious of what the neighbors thought, meaning that he would never do anything that would jeopardize anyone's opinion of him when someone could see him, (aside from making Harry do the occasional yard work and slapping him once in a while, like now, which could be written off as 'discipline') but that did not mean that he was always mindful of the neighbors' opinions, namely, when he was inside and they couldn't hear him scream. As soon as Harry got inside, Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up the stairs to his room, while in the background, the telly still blared and Aunt Petunia did her "good housewife" impersonation in the kitchen by making some sort of pastry from a boxed mix.

Once at the door to the room, Uncle Vernon unlocked all the various locks on the door and threw him inside, snapping, "Don't pull anything, or you'll catch it!" Then the door flew shut with a bang, and Harry could hear various complex locks clicking. As soon as the door was locked, Harry hastily drew out his cloak, the map, the healing potion, his wand, the little bit of food he had kept out, and his notes and pictures, and stowed them under the loose floorboard under his bed as fast as he was able, then let Hedwig out to fly to Ron's, just in case. Uncle Vernon would no doubt destroy any 'freakish' things that he might find in Harry's room, up to and including the owl if he was in a bad mood, especially as he had threatened such in times past. And then Harry sat down to think, and to wait until his 'family' relented and let him out to cook dinner, knowing that if that was the case he could probably nick some of it without them knowing. Better not to break the stasis charms on the wrappers of food unless he could get none of his own, because magically preserved food decayed even faster than ordinary with the charms off.

Why was he specifically in trouble this year, though? Harry knew better than to ask Uncle Vernon (or Aunt Petunia, for that matter) what was going on, but he was nevertheless curious and perturbed. What could have caused Uncle Vernon to be even more of an arse this year?

The answer, when it came, felt almost unreal. Harry had been studying a crumpled page of notes which had been hidden in his jacket (even wizards needed to do their homework, and there was only so much that Harry could do on the last week of school and on the train to Hogwarts, especially if he didn't have his books.) when someone knocked at his door. Harry's head jerked up, and he hid the notes under his pillow reflexively, then called out "Who's there?" although he was not really expecting an answer. But really, who could it be? _No_ one in the Dursley household knocked except Harry himself (that had been beaten into him- not literally, as Uncle Vernon didn't have the stamina for a beating, but still using harsh methods- when he was very young, as "the freak", not being part of the family, had to mind his manners at all times).

"Um, can I talk to you?"

Harry froze. Was that Dudley? Since when did _Dudley_ knock? Or ask _him_ for anything? Was he imperiused?

"Yeah, if you can get in," he found himself saying, actually rather curious, if still worried. Why would Dudley want to talk to him?

The sound of several latches and locks coming undone startled him even more; it seemed like Dudley was actually serious! Harry tensed against his will. He supposed he could always fight with his bare hands, if it came to that, but he didn't particularly want his Aunt Petunia furious that he hurt her Duddykins, and he couldn't cast magic or he would be expelled, hero of the magical world or not. Fudge had quite effectively demonstrated that last year. What if this was a trick? What if it wasn't just Dudley on the other side of the door, if it was his gang come to beat up the freak. What if-

The door opened, and Harry clenched his fists on the thin blanket to prevent his hands from shaking visibly. "Hi Dud," he managed, not sure what to say. What was there to say, really?

"Um, hi," was the other boy's response, and he shifted back and forth on his feet. Harry took the moment of silence to inspect his cousin, and was actually rather impressed, as he had shed all the rolls of fat entirely, looking rather muscular and even more dangerous, especially since his blond hair was, for probably the first time, actually loose instead of slicked back like a 'pig in a wig'. A muscle jumped nervously in Harry's neck.

The silence was starting to grow truly oppressive when Dudley finally said, "um, so how was your school," and Harry was actually shocked into replying. "Fine, except one of the teachers was a nasty bitch."

Dudley blinked. "Yeah, I get that. Had one of those too, but only for the first trimester."

Harry wondered if he could get away with casting a 'revelo' on the boy. Something was not right. Why would Dudley be acting like this? Was he really actually trying to make conversation, or was he setting Harry up for something? There was another awkward pause, and at last Dudley burst out: "I'm sorry!"

Well. Of all the things that Harry would have expected his cousin to say, this was not one of them. Harry could simply blink at him in pure bewilderment. That was honestly the understatement of the century, but Harry was more surprised by the fact that Dudley even said it than the fact that it was not severe enough. "Um, sorry for what?"

Dudley looked distinctly uneasy, but he finally said, "sorry for...um...I was a really big prat."

"You're welcome?" Harry blinked at him. "Dudley, are you ok?"

Dudley actually blushed. Granted, it was really only a pale pink tinge that momentarily took up residence in the general vicinity of his cheekbones, but it certainly surprised Harry enough. "Oh, shut it, I'm trying to apologize here and you're just gaping at me like a fish..."

"Right," Harry managed. "I just...it's a bit unexpected, you know? Kind of worrying, actually. I mean, apology accepted, but- but why?"

Dudley frowned. "Those demon/dementy things," he managed. "I just...I felt so horrible, about everything, and you saved me, and..." Harry sensed that Dudley might actually have worked up into some sort of cathartic rant if he had stayed, but at that moment, Aunt Petunia's shrill voice rang out, calling for Dudley to come up to supper, and a still slightly shaken Dudley Dursley said "um, gotta go," and closed and locked the door, heading down the stairs. Harry was left to stare at the now-once-again locked door, wondering what kind of weird parallel universe he had managed to find himself in, completely forgetting the pitiful excuse for homework that he had been working on.

Then, that night, just as Harry was thinking about changing from his ratty clothes to some even more ratty clothes, the miserable excuses for garments that masqueraded as his night clothes, the door once again opened, this time very quietly and without a knock. "Um, Potter? You awake?"

Harry was flung instantly into full wakefulness. "Yeah?" he responded, hastily sitting up from where he had been lying on his stomach on his bed, reading a very, very worn copy of _The Secret Garden_ (Dudley had gotten it for Christmas one year but hadn't liked it because it had been 'too girly'). "What is it?"

Dudley just stood there for a moment, shifting on his feet, and then said finally, "um, I got you this," and pressed a sandwich wrapped in a napkin in the other boy's hand. "Mum and Dad aren't really that happy with you right now, but...look, it's not poisoned or anything."

Harry just took a moment to stare at the sandwich and then at the other boy, trying to gauge his intentions. He certainly _looked_ honest, and Harry seriously doubted that he was that good of an actor. But still, what was his motive? "Why?" he asked after a long moment, taking a cautious bite of it. It didn't taste like Dudley had poisoned it or spat on it...

"I...well...I did some thinking." In previous years, Harry might have asked, "Did it hurt?" but it seemed like everything had changed this year, and he didn't know what to think or do or say at all. And Dudley seemed as if he was actually trying. "After those...things...attacked me, Mum wanted me to talk to a therapist; you know how she is. He helped me work a lot of things out. Potter...I just...a lot of the things I did and said to you were wrong, you know? And Mum and Dad were downright horrible, really, to both of us." He shuddered. "I used to just have everything handed to me, but this summer I almost flunked out of Smeltings. Like, actually flunked." He frowned, then, seeming to realize that the light was off, he turned it on, although he still kept his voice hushed, as if to keep has parents from coming up here. "I just...it's been a long year. Started dieting, too; my doctor said that I needed to take off weight. It's just...Mum and Dad aren't helping. Mum says I can't possibly diet, because I'll starve, and Dad wants me to go into business or the military. I just want to box, you know."

Harry was quite frankly speechless.

"And...and what they did to you was worse," Dudley continued after a moment.

Harry actually spat out a mouthful of crumbs and lettuce fragments. "What?!"

"They _abused_ you! Like, who keeps their nephew in a cupboard when they have two extra rooms. Or hits them. Or starves them. I didn't really get it back then, I don't know why I didn't. I guess...I guess I just had everything I needed and was too busy smashing aliens on _Scorcher Starships_ or something. I don't know what I thought. I just...I'm sorry, Potter."

"Harry," Harry managed, having finally found his speech. Even after what Dudley had done to him, he was at least trying to make amends. Even if Harry didn't trust him yet, he had too few family members not to try to connect to the ones that were at least not actively trying to be nasty to him.

"What?"

"Call me Harry. Can we just...is this a truce?"

Dudley blinked a few times, then finally said "Yeah. Let's have a truce."

Harry finished the sandwich, shoving the crust in his mouth with only the merest modicum of etiquette, then wiped his hands on his ratty greying sweatpants and held it out for Dudley to shake. And so it was that, for probably the first time since they had both been babies rolling around on the impeccable carpet of No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley agreed not to kill each other.

At that moment, there was a tap-tap-tap sound from the window, and both boys' heads went up.

"Wh-what's that?"

Harry rose and went to the window to look out, but it was only Hedwig, and so he cautiously opened the window, letting in the stifling summer air, and let the owl perch on his arm to land. Dudley stared. "That's, um, your owl?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, giving her a fragment left over from the BLT that Dudley had gotten for him. She nibbled his finger affectionately, yellow eyes soft.

"What kind is she?"

It took Harry a moment to reply, because of he had never in his life expected Dudley to ask him about Hedwig, but he finally came out with: "She's a snowy owl."

"She's pretty," Dudley offered after a moment. "Does she...would she be ok with me touching her? I've never touched an owl."

Harry hesitated. Being a wizarding familiar, Hedwig had a number of protection spells layered over her, but he still couldn't be sure if Dudley would spook her, even if it would be nearly impossible to hurt her except perhaps with the Hogwarts Express or a killing curse. "Yeah, ok, but be gentle."

Dudley approached slowly, and though Hedwig eyed him warily, she seemed to sense that he was no longer a real threat, and so let him touch her soft white head, mussing up the feathers. When her beak parted in annoyance, Harry waved the other boy away.

"Wow, she's soft. I never thought a bird could be soft. I mean, they look all feathery and spiny, you know?" Harry did know; he had thought much the same thing the first time that he had gone to pick Hedwig up. "Do a lot of w-wizards have them?"

Harry started, causing Hedwig to flap to keep her balance on his hoodie sleeve. Had Dudley seriously used the word 'wizard' in a sentence? "Yeah," he found himself replying. "They're the way we get mail actually, most of the time, and of course they're pets too. And they're a lot smarter and longer-lived than ordinary birds."

Hedwig clacked her beak smugly, then reached up to start preening Harry's messy mane, looking for all the world as though she had understood every word that they had said, which, come to think of it, she probably had. Dudley was still staring at the great white bird.

"So like, what other pets do you guys have?"

What was Dudley on about? Was he just curious, or did he have some sort of ulterior motive? But if he _did_ have an ulterior motive, what could it possibly be? "Well, at school we are only supposed to have an owl, a toad, or a cat, but some people bring things like rats and tarantulas and others get exotic things like birds of paradise or panthers or magical animals. Our headmaster has a phoenix, actually."

"Like, a legit phoenix? Does it actually burn up and come back?" Dudley asked, his ordinary fear of magic and magical creatures seeming just slightly outweighed by his curiosity, although he still looked a little scared and awkward about talking about such blatantly _freakish_ creatures. Although, to be fair, he had played some fantasy video games (secretly, of course, since Aunt Petunia would likely sooner have died then let Dudley have anything to do with magic; Harry only knew because he had had to fetch drinks and snacks for Dudley and his gang when they had camped out in the computer room and had secretly played Final Fantasy).

"Yeah, Fawkes is immortal and rises from his ashes. He can also teleport and heal people with his tears."

"Whoa. Like, anything?"

"Well, he can't help with certain curses, but if you like fall off your broom and bang your head, he can heal you," Harry said, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him.

"Wait, you guys actually _ride_ brooms?"

"Yes. There's actually a sport we play, although most wizards just apparate- that's like teleportation- or travel through portals in chimneys when we want to get places."

Dudley stared. "A sport? How do you do it? Does it like hurt if you stay on your broom for too long?"

"You have three different kinds of balls, called the quaffle, bludgers, and snitch. There are floating hoops, and one person on each team has to guard the goals while the other ones either try to get the waffle into the hoop or smack the bludgers at people to knock them off their brooms. Then there's the snitch, which is this little golden ball that one person on each team has to try to catch to win the game. It's complicated and also dangerous."

"I'll say, that sounds weird. I'll stick to football, thank you. It sounds cool though. If I'd understood any of it."

"I have a book on it I could-" Harry broke off. "Damn. Actually, your dad has all my stuff. I would let you borrow it if I had it..."

Dudley gave him a sheepish grin, which looked decidedly odd on his face. "Actually, I...um...nicked your stuff. I stuck your dresses and witch hat on top of a bunch of my broken things, so dad thinks it's all there...I'll get it to you tomorrow.

Harry's mouth gaped again. "What? Why?"

"To say sorry, Potter. You are familiar with the concept?"

Harry was, he'd just never expected it from thus quarter in his life. "Um, yeah, th-thank you." Dudley just looked awkward.

Dudley had to leave shortly after, explaining that his parents, of course, did not approve of his new sentiments and that he would probably get both of them in trouble if he stayed, but from that evening on, they had a quiet truce, and though Dudley still met up with his gang in the park, they tended more towards skateboarding and boxing practice than vandalizm and 'Harry hunting' now, and Harry was sometimes even welcomed along, once Dudley had beat into his friends' thick skulls that they were going to have to clean up their acts. The elder Dursleys were still horrible. The Order members watched the house night and day, ostensibly for Harry's 'safety'. The neighbors were still nosy and suspicious. But other things had changed for the better, too, and Harry found himself quite grateful.

Until one day that it all went down pretty much in flames. Or in fireworks.


End file.
